


Stolen

by Townycod13



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, lovecraftian stuff, mystery angst thing i guess, psychic kyle, weird story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: Kenny McCormick disappears and with him, the memory that he was ever there at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the fantastic EleanorC! If you have a moment, I highly recommend giving her work a read! :D

Kyle’s world moved forward while his feet propelled him.

His feet were below him and the sky above him.

Reminders like this can keep him centered, a sort of strange completion to a dull life.

Today he marches onwards, the tired march of a student towards another day of imprisonment within the walls of a building with meaningless rules. The sky is above him and the ground is below him. And him? He’s just a guy walking past familiar neighbors and onto a familiar stage.

There’s the Cartman house, where luckily he doesn’t see that fat fuck of the son, but Mrs. Cartman waves from where she’s watering the lawn. It was a wonder how much a single woman could hide behind a supposedly kind smile. Kyle had half a mind to think Liane Cartman taught her horrible son most of his anti-semitic convictions.

No matter, he could smile politely and walk a little faster. He was followed by a sickening smell of cookies that on this morning, like many before, made him ponder why he didn’t use an entirely different route to school.

The answer was only a block away. A boy in a knit hat and a sour expression stood in front of a simple green home. Stan was sure to be a ball of absolute  _ sunshine _ at this stupidly early hour of the day, but that was fine, he wasn’t feeling particularly cheerful himself.

He always had to center himself once or twice, tug down his ushaka and remind himself his feet belnged on the ground, but this morning had been especially trying.

He’d awoken in a daze, and couldn’t help but list the world around him. Take note of the sun, the clouds, the suburban span of similar looking house after similar house, and the concrete under his feet.

He felt untethered.

“What crawled up your ass?” Stan said in lieu of an actual greeting as soon as he was within a reasonable range. Whatever expression had inspired this reaction was a mystery to Kyle.

“Good morning to you too, asshole.” There was more venom in his tone than intended, and he felt guilty immediately. Stan frowned and looked down at that infernal phone he brought everywhere.

Kyle was tempted to pull out his own distracting piece of technology, but he needed to focus on keeping his feet on the ground. He wasn’t sure which would happen first if he lost focus, falling into the center of the earth or floating the fuck off into an asteroid belt.

Neither seemed particularly possible, or even plausible, but an unease in his stomach warned him not to push his luck.

“Sorry.” Kyle apologized first, continuing the trek to school and knowing that his long time friend would fall in pace next to him, even when upset, “I don’t think I slept well.”

That was a lie. Kyle had slept fine. So well, in fact, that waking felt like an extension of a dream that shouldn’t be real.

Why did he lie? Because the truth was harder. Honesty was always harder. Everyone was more eager to accept easy to swallow tropes of human behavior.

He lied as naturally as he breathed. That didn’t mean he liked it.

There was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something, but he had more important things on his mind.

Stan shoved the freemium game he’d only just popped open into his pocket without even bothering to collect his daily login bonus, “S’okay. I feel pretty grumpy too.”

Kyle nodded and kept his eyes ahead as they walked in silence, the all too familiar scenery of the tiny mountain town tickling the corners of his senses like a disturbance inside his heart.

There was the tree in the front yard of a grouchy old woman that would probably cut off your hands if she ever caught you taking any of the mystery fruit that sometimes hung from the lower branches. There was the extensive fence around a ratty older house that had no less than three dogs that barked incessantly every morning without fail. The familiar smells of two boys on their way to school apparently the height of offense to the tiny animals.

There was a lot.

It was a tiny world to take in, but Kyle found himself counting each little detail, like he was waiting for one to be an ill-fit. Maybe the fruit tree would be replaced by a berry bush or there would be four dogs instead of three.

Something that was off in the early morning light, covered in the mist of dawn and taken by the cool mountain air. Something that he couldn’t place.

“Today’s gonna suck balls.” Stan said, interrupting the strangely pensive silence, but it was nice. The advantage of having a friend so close was a lot could be said in little words.

Kyle liked saying a lot though. It was a character flaw he’d never been able to shake.

“Depends on how you look at it. If you start the day already looking at it like it’s shit, that’s all you’re going to get. I agree completely though, if I get another fucking pop quiz in history I might pop off the fucking teachers head. Syllabi are there for a  _ reason _ , ass-nugget! He couldn’t bother to just write two fucking words on the paper about quizzes. Nooo. He just assigns them left and right like the asshole he is. Seriously, though, if you’re always negative about shit that’s all you’re going to get--”

Stan nodded and let him go. Kyle was sure he’d repeated his point at least twice before he forced himself to stop.

It was the specific expression Stan had developed for when he’d start to tune Kyle out that did it. Kyle hated that look. He hated that he couldn’t keep shit short. He hated that everyone had collectively decided his penchant for persuasive speeches was obnoxious.

He hated a lot of things.

Right now, the thing he hated the most was that he’d forgotten to keep himself centered. He tripped over himself to find the ground again and nearly face planted in the effort. He’d only fallen an inch but his heart was threatening to break his rib cage in response.

He hadn’t noticed his feet hovering off the ground.

He prayed to whatever god was worth believing in that Stan hadn’t either.

“You okay, dude?”

Kyle gulped, “Fin--a rock--I’m fine.”

A not unkind snort was his only response.

The sky was above him and the ground underneath his feet. He was walking the familiar path to his familiar school in his familiar life.

Only a week to go before summer break, but it was an oddly chilly morning. Kyle adjusted his jacket and tried to ignore the increasing babble of students that started to join in the walk. A swarm of mindless teenagers returning to their cage for one more pointless week of pointless busy work. Was that what was bothering him? The weather?

“Oi! Fags! Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Kyle shut his eyes and managed to count to four before the hulking form of his nemesis caught up, “Because we don’t want to walk to school with a fat asshole like you.”

Cartman  _ ooh _ ’ed like something naughty had been said, despite his far more extensive and horrific vocabulary, “Kahl, don’t you know that fat shaming is a leading cause of suicide? Are you trying to make me kill myself? Kahl,” Cartman clicked his tongue and came into pace with the other two, “I knew you were a cold hearted jew but this is a new low.”

Despite all his efforts to hold his temper and Stan’s not so subtle tap warning him to hold in his emotions, Kyle rose to the bait like he did what felt like an eternity of days before, “Because people of my heritage have never suffered through death through anti-semitic bullshit like that?”

The sarcasm in his voice should have cut open Cartman’s stomach and released the cheesy poofs hidden within. Apparently it wasn’t enough though, because Cartman fucking  _ smiled _ like the bastard he was, “Exactly!”

“Kyle…” Stan’s voice was sympathetic but warning.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s not worth it, dude.”

“Today is his last day on this earth.”

“EY! Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Cartman scowled at them both as though they were the bad guys in this scene. Kyle gnashed his teeth with suppressed anger but Cartman didn’t give him a chance to argue back, “Screw you guys, I’m going to hang out with Butters.”

The advancing blond found himself hijacked by a tub of lard and dragged into the now rapidly approaching school.

If either Stan or Kyle bothered, they’d probably be able to hear Butters responding sympathetically to whatever Cartman was currently murmuring darkly at him.

They didn’t.

Kyle reminded himself to focus on keeping his feet on the ground and the sky over his head.

Stan pulled out his freemium game again, a desperate distraction and addiction.

The daunting shadow of the school was enough that Kyle sort of wanted to follow suit, hide his heart away in some third location where he couldn’t be affected by the cascade of a ceaseless world around him.

Escapism wasn’t really in his nature though. Or rather, he had a penchant for extremism and tended to take an escape too far.

He always took everything too far.

“‘Morning, losers.” Craig nassaled, pushing past while giving half a glare to Stan. The feeling was clearly mutual but Stan barely even looked up from his phone to acknowledge the disdain.

“Can you try not to be such an asshole in the morning?” Kyle shot back in Stan’s place, wishing whatever ill-placed rivalry between the two would just wash away with time.

It wasn’t like either of them really cared anymore. It was more like a bad habit.

Craig one-ups Stan, Stan responds in turn, and so on, for the rest of eternity.

This town really  _ was _ an unchanging hell.

Craig flipped him off and continued to walk into the school building with Clyde, who was ever the encyclopedia on memes that was apparently already excited for the day to come, judging from whatever meaningless quote he was tossing at Craig.

Kyle relaxed his shoulders and noted that they shouldn’t have tensed so much to begin with.

It was just Cartman.

It was just Craig.

It was just South Park.

The confines of the school offered him no reprieve from the light touch of anxiety eating away at the bottom of his stomach, but it at least allowed him to have an easier center. Ceiling above, tile below, and the usual hubbub around.

He could keep his feet on the ground like this,was relatively confident of that, at least.

The lights, on the other hand, decided to flicker unpleasantly as he passed by. He clenched his fists and doubled his focus on remaining still and inside. He was one place, centered, and nothing should jingle or jangle in response to him.

“You okay, dude?” Stan’s voice held a sincere lilt of concern and Kyle felt guilt eat away at his gut, “You’ve looked just… really shitty since we met up?”

“I’m fine. I think I just forgot some homework is all.”

That was apparently the level of explanation that could satisfy his best friend, and the topic was dropped as Stan wordlessly made his way to a locker a great distance from Kyle’s own.

Kyle counted the faces in the hallway as he dialed the familiar combination on the metal death-trap. No one extra. Nothing out of place. Just a day full of boring classes and then basketball practice.

A back to back boring schedule that he’d repeated so many times it felt like his head could burst with an emotional carpal tunnel.

“Good morning,” his locker neighbor greeted easily.

“Good morning, David.” Kyle didn’t look up from his slow collection of Thursday books.

“You okay? You look a little pale.”

Concern from a friendly acquaintance shouldn’t agitate him, he was aware, but he could feel the sneer building beneath his expression. An explosion of unspoken cries; ‘if it’s obvious I’m not doing great, maybe don’t fucking remind me?!’ and ‘thank you, asshole, now I have to have this repetitive conversation again because, of course, you’re not the first person to notice!’.

Kyle sucked in, air  _ and _ words, and slammed his locker shut just loud enough to startle the other boy. “I’m  _ fine _ .”

He stormed away and felt and instant regret caused by his panic. The suppressed anger always came out somehow, and it always ate away at the people close to him.

The continued internal debate about whether or not friendship was a viable option in his life continued. Forever cycling from his own rational self loathing to a rather irrational series of accusations against his character.

It always landed back into the understanding that he was too fucking clingy to let go.

The lights in the dingey hall dimmed overhead but he didn’t bother to reign himself in. Flickering caused alarm, dims just made people want to change a lightbulb.

First period was easy enough to endure. Just sit and watch the pointless song and dance that pretended it was education do it’s turn around. A stream of busy work from an underpaid and under qualified teacher, that had no interest in learning a single name in the class despite teaching this particular lot for upwards of a year.

He could sit, focus, and stew in regret. Regret, unfortunately, was a very centering emotion. One had great difficulty feeling floaty with that spider crawling around inside with stomach acids, poking at the puss filled masses of remorse within, and causing that vague sort of nausea that matched the emotion perfectly.

Second period was worse.

For whatever reason, the teacher hadn’t fucking bothered to assign him a partner for a group project that required presenting, so he was the only asshole up there, showing the work of two done by one. The class sniggering as if it was somehow his unlikeability that caused the educators incompetence.

He held in the words, swallowing them and trapping them in his tightly wound fists while he pointed to the next topic in his completed and detailed presentation;

A well put together introduction to how hormones affect the human mind, and studies that are currently done in the field. Frankly, he was impressed with his own handy work. The areas in the powerpoint that he didn’t even remember writing, were so well organized that he only had to glance to understand what he aspect he should be highlighting in with his words.

Words that wound in and out of the heads of all present. He was familiar enough with the sensation of no one listening to see his own painstakingly well done work wasn’t worth time or thought among the audience. Even the teacher, after twenty other presentations, looked as though she couldn’t be bothered to listen to her own damn assignment.

It was a perfect showcase of everything he hated about this pointless institution.

Education for education's sake. No true skills or valuable lessons. Homework for homeworks sake. No purpose, no meaning.

Presentations purely because classes like these were  _ supposed _ to have presentations.

The whole thing made his earlier nausea build to the breaking point, and caused him to swallow the acid of his stomach on his final slide. Determination alone kept the bile inside.

Kept everything inside.

He wanted to change his entire presentation; a long and meaningful rant about the pointlessness of a flawed system that suppressed creativity in children, and stifled their actual desire for knowledge through inane policies and substandard practices.

The words would be easy; flowing like a never-ending stream of persuasion built from the passion in his heart, and the conviction that he was right and the world was wrong. That he had the answer, and all they had to do was  _ listen _ .

He finished his presentation and retrieved the flash drive containing his powerpoint, not a word out of place or a single one of his true feelings leaking out. He should be proud that he’d managed it, given his usual lack of self control, despite every temptation, but he just felt the deep shame that he’d given in.

That he’d allowed this establishment and the judgemental gazes of his peers to grind his self-esteem. His zeal for answers and taking on the world alone, if necessary. His ability to shatter expectations and bring the world to its knees.

Taken, because he could handle the vacant expression as they listened to his busy work of an assignment.

He couldn’t take it anymore in regards to his actual beliefs.

He’d barely taken his seat before the bell signalled freedom for all from this stupid cage, and prodded them to the next one.

He didn’t want to go to third period.

His reluctance apparently slowed his pace enough that the students in the hall could jostle him mercilessly, and it made the agitation within intensify endlessly.

It would be so satisfying to just turn to one of them and tell them to watch where the fuck they were going. Or better yet, stick out a leg and teach them the lesson through action, but he represses the urge.

It was a stupid thing to be angry about.

Third period had Stan, though.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, the familiar face of a constant companion easing his hatred.

Easing everything.

“Hey, dude,” Stan greeted, doodling something mindlessly in his textbook. “Feeling any better?”

“If by better you mean worse,” Kyle ground out, taking his seat next to the other and regretting letting go of his tension. The tension, which was apparently what had kept the pounding headache at bay.

“Sucks,” Stan said, a simple shrug of his shoulders and little in the way of sympathy.

He didn’t want to set Kyle off. That was clear. It should feel considerate.

It had the opposite of the desired effect, but Kyle knew the game of today by now, the one that insisted he keep his actual emotions tightly wrapped up and his words short.

“Yeah,” he replied.

That was all they needed, and they lapsed into a tense but not angry silence. It eased what little of Kyle’s nerves could be eased by this point.

Whatever the econ teacher had to say that day danced out of Kyle’s skull doing a vaguely european dance number. He didn’t even try to stop it, knowing full well there wasn’t a single piece of information offered up that couldn’t just as easily be found in the textbook or online.

At the bell, he almost didn’t hear Stan’s question about basketball practice.

“Yeah, don’t wait up after school. We’re training for a tournament so it’ll run late.”

Stan nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Fourth had Butters, who he was doing his best to ignore, and the promise of lunch afterwards. It was a challenge to even want to maintain a friendship with the blond boy, when he continued to support Cartman’s shitty endeavors with such vigor.

Sometimes Kyle felt like Butters wasn’t just being manipulated into it. That he believed the crap he was spouting as much as the bigoted bastard did.

“Aw gee, Kyle, you look awfully sore--”

“Not now, Butters.”

The clip in his tone must have been enough, because math was blissfully devoid of any attempts at conversation from the sheepish boy.

A sheep.

Like everyone. Listen to what they’re told, never question orders, allow the world to push them into a mold that they may or may not fit into.

Kyle refused. He wouldn’t be pushed around or manipulated. He edged away from where Butters was seated, the representation of every easily manipulated aspect of the other boys personality a horrible little reminder of how horribly the world can shape you, if you let it.

He didn’t look at Butters at the end of class. He didn’t want to see.

The anger built and he didn’t have the appetite for food, so instead he waited in his next classroom for the period to begin.

And end.

Walk out of the classroom.

Walk into the hall.

Find his next class.

Endure an extended period of time on meaningless knowledge taught without a care for content.

Walk into the hall.

Find the next class.

Repeat in what should be considered a torturously endless pattern, but was instead deemed the only suitable way for the youth to spend their time.

_ Wasted _ and spiraling pointlessly. Maybe, if he didn’t go to a shitty high school in a backwater shitty town, it might have been worth something.

As it was, the teachers were just government appointed babysitters and, from the hallow dead look in their eyes, they knew it.

His only reprieve was at the end of the day changing for practice.

He still felt the nagging suspicion he’d forgotten something important, but clearly it’d had no impact on his classes, so in all likeliness it was irrelevant, or just neurons firing in the dark to fuck with his brain. In a short while it would just be him and the basketball team doing mindless drills--

Kyle stared at the sneaker he’d been tying. The white lace, having seen better days, was yellowed with time and sweat, the expensive shoe itself had seen him through many games and practices. It wasn’t anything interesting.

But staring at it came with the knowledge that he’d always be doing this same song and dance.

Always.

Even basketball, the one thing he considered to be  _ his _ and  _ his alone _ was simply another reflection of a mind-numbing task to be repeated endlessly. A life devoid of meaning.

A world devoid of meaning.

What did he hope to do with these practices? He’d never make it as a pro, whatever benefits it offered his college applications had long since been met, and he wasn’t even that good.

He was a dime a dozen. A well rounded player that loved the sport and practiced a lot. He was sure an exact replica of his skill level and passion for the sport could be found in every school with a team. Maybe in the ones without one as well.

Is there any meaning in a hobby that has no benefit outside of enjoyment?

Did he enjoy it? Or was it just another list of things he was programmed to do, like a good little boy?

“I like basketball,” he tested, whispering to his shoe and grateful for the empty locker room, “I like basketball.”

It was true. He felt the truth grow stronger the second time.

That was the trouble though, the more a person lies to themselves, the more they believe it. Was this just one of those things?

Was his entire life one of those things?

“Oi, Broflovski! Hurry up!”

Kyle shot up from his sitting position and let his body do the rest.

He was centered.

He was playing a sport he loved.

Anything else was pointless.

It was halfway through a scrimmage when Kyle realized, missing a hoop by an upsetting inch, why exactly he kept questioning every little thing.

That same emotion he got when disappointment rang out, and he missed a shot, had taken to his entire body and torn apart his ability to cope with the world around him.

He dribbled the ball after it’d been passed back to him, a second chance.

To cope with his hatred of a flawed school system.

It got stolen by Token and quickly passed off to Bridon, so Kyle rushed to mark Kevin, who was likely to take the shot.

To cope with his own difficult to control emotions.

Clyde stole it back and aimed. It missed by a mile but Jason got the rebound.

To cope with the power that bubbled beneath his skin and threatened to show the world what a freak he really was.

Coach Garett blew the whistle before Jason could do much of anything, and brought them in for a talk about strengths and weaknesses. Kyle chose not to hear it.

He didn’t want to hear any of this.

He didn’t want to be here. Not now.

Something was wrong.

He felt empty inside and it ransacked his ability bear the world around him.

“Are you listening, Broflovski?”

What did it matter?

Kyle looked the man honestly in the eye and let out an emotion, “No.”

He walked away, speeding faster than his pride wanted him to, in response to the confused cries of his teammates and coach, and tried within his heart to remember why he should care whether or not he got kicked off the team.

What did it matter, ultimately, if he was a player on a team, or a hobbyist that played in the park from time to time?

He changed his clothes, trying, and failing to ignore the sticky discomfort of relatively clean cotton onto gross sweat, but didn’t even entertain the notion of showering. Guilt beginning to gnaw at the part of his heart that still cared.

By the time he was in the chill of the early evening air, sweat from his earlier activities causing the unusual weather to cling to him, he forgot to remind himself to be centered.

His left foot was an inch into the concrete.

The natural reaction might be panic. He wouldn’t know. He was a freak.

He closed his eyes and carefully counted to ten. Once. Twice. As many times as it took.

He calmed the turbulence and lifted his foot out of the ground, very pointedly not looking at the hole left behind, and continued to walk home.

He didn’t take in every detail like he had on the way there. Clearly it hadn’t provided him with any answers the first time. He wasn’t going to count fucking birds nests twice.

Why did he even feel the need to count things today? It was stupid.

It wasn’t like there were going to be more things than yesterday. Did he think visitors had dropped an alien to take over? He scoffed at the thought, and looked around his feet for something to kick.

Kicking something sounded like the perfect cliche end for his cliche day. The ground was, of course, uncharacteristically free of litter or rocks. Nothing to take out his irrational anger on.

He wanted to turn back time and agree wholeheartedly with Stan’s assessment that today was going to suck.  _ Clearly _ that guy had some fucking clairvoyance or some shit.

Three dogs barked at him as he passed the familiar fence and he spent a good moment deciding exactly how evil it was considered to kick dogs.

Pretty fucking evil. That was Cartman level evil. He wasn’t willing to go down that road.

Three dogs and two maple trees ahead.

One best friend.

One arch nemesis.

Many acquaintances that he would struggle to call friends.

Kyle stopped in the middle of the road,the empty streets of a small town offering no punishment for the action, and his mind locked onto something; a tickle relating to that obnoxious headache that built between his ears.

His math was screwy.

He looked up at the trees but there were two of them, as promised.

He looked back at the still yipping animals but they hadn’t multiplied or subtracted.

Was that  _ all _ his friend group was?

He pulled out his phone and scanned his contacts. Family, school associates, Stan, Cartman, Butters… nothing that stuck out. Nothing was wrong with his math.

He furrowed his brows.

No.

He knew there was something wrong.

He looked up and down the empty street, but the only signs of life had retired in the homes. Homes full of people, surely all the right people.

Slowly, he edged out of the road, and picked at the frustrating little niggle in the back of his head.

It was like forgetting a dream.

Kyle had never been very good at forgetting dreams. He’d press and press and press until even his own mind couldn’t withstand the pressure and eventually provided the withheld information. He wasn’t letting this go.

He knew his math was screwy and he didn’t know why, but he had the strangest suspicion it was the cause of his shitty day.

What didn’t make sense?

Everything had made sense though, life continued on and he trudged through it like moving through a thick gelatinous mud.

The various failures and embarrassments of the day piled up under the scrutiny, and Kyle continued his march home.

He passed by the Marsh’s house without so much as looking up.

He sped passed the Cartman’s like the devil himself lived there.

He slowed his frustrated march only when he was sure that it was a short block between himself and home, and he could indulge in his favorite distractions. Forget the day. Forget the bullshit.

He passes by two childhood friends’ homes every morning.

That math wasn’t wrong. He knew that.

He paused at his own front door, and looked beyond his house to the dingy train tracks that divided the town up cleanly.

“Kenny.”

The shock of the word he barely understood tumbling out of his lips made him drop his keys. There was no attempt to pick them up.

He looked around frantically, eyes searching for a familiar orange blob.

Kenny.

His rib cage ached under the abuse of his panicked heartbeat. This was the information he had been searching for. It had to be.

Kenny.

There had been no sightings all day, no comments, no--

Kenny.

Alarm spiked within him, and he couldn’t begin to place why so he sought another opinion

He struggled with his phone, tapping the number most frequently called, and not even waiting for Stan’s greeting before bursting with his crazed question.

“Where’s Kenny?!”

The line was silent for a long moment.

“Dude, you’re going to need to be  _ way _ more specific than that,” Stan sighed, the slightly nasal noise that came from pinching the bridge of his nose bringing his pitch down. “For starters, who the  _ fuck _ is Kenny?”


	2. Chapter 2

When taking into account insanity or improbability, carefully considering the implications of both is the recommended path. Rather than jumping to conclusions, one should spend time considering how each option will affect every individual involved. What is likely. Considering the opinions of the masses and carefully researching the subject matter.

Kyle Broflovski was widely of the opinion that if the world stopped making sense, it was extremely likely that it was the world that had gone insane.

“Kenneth. McCormick.” He ground out for what felt like the millionth time, the blank expression of his closest friend a mirror of his frustration.

“Yeah, I’m telling you, dude, I’ve never heard of him.”

It wasn’t likely that Stan was lying, although it wouldn’t be his first dance with deception, but Kyle still felt rage bubble beneath his skin at the bullshit answer.

He’d thought meeting up in person would enable him to read the lies in Stan’s face. It didn’t. It was just a waste of an afternoon.

His body was still itching underneath the pressure of an uncomfortable loss. It created a tension that extended to his bones and demanded answers. A familiar feeling of indignation.

“Fine.” Kyle said, “If you’re going to insist on being an asshole, I’m not going to deal with you.”

“Come on, Kyle, don’t--” whatever weak excuse Stan may have cooked up to keep him in the Marsh household was drowned out by the front door slamming. Kyle could barely hear the sound of Shelly’s rage at the noise but drowned the guilt in his annoyance.

No one was making sense. Over the course of the day at school he’d mentioned Kenny’s name to no less than twenty classmates.

Craig didn’t have the slightest recollection of making animal videos with him.

Butters claimed he went to Hawaii alone.

Tammy Warner just looked at him like  _ he _ was the crazy one.

It seemed like no matter how he dug or who he consulted, he was left with the same discontent.

It was unnerving.

It didn’t help that his own memories of Kenny were scattered at best. Like the shadow of a dream.

“Kenny’s not just a dream.” he asserted to the sidewalk as he walked. If only to himself. If only to remind himself that he couldn’t have fabricated such an elaborate identity without some truth to base it off of.

Right?

“Kenny’s real.”

The real potentiality that he was the one that had lost his mind wasn’t worth considering.

Right?

Kyle swallowed thickly, unwilling to look up from his walk the entire way home. The chill of the evening air bit at his face but he tugged down his hat in defiance.

His feet led him the familiar path home.

Where he would go inside, greet his parents, eat dinner, and spend time with his brother. He didn’t need this kind of insanity in his life.

The real temptation to ignore the phantom of a memory tugging at his senses and continue his otherwise uneventful life was enough to stop his trek.

He could.

It didn’t seem like anyone cared.

_ Blue eyes locked with his own anxiously in a crowd of uniforms, the camp designated strictly to those of the Jewish faith a mere backdrop. _

_ “Go on.” Kyle encouraged, giving him a slight pat to proceed up front. The mischievous edge of him choosing not warn his friend about the bell. _

_ Kenny tugged at the drawstrings of his hood but made his way up. _

Was that real? Or an imaginary companion he’d created to get through the monotony of making macaroni picture after macaroni picture for Jew Scouts?

“Ey, what are you doing stopping in front of my house?”

Perhaps it was the despair knotting inside his heart but he turned to his longterm nemesis earnestly, “Cartman, you remember Kenny, right?”

“Of course!”

Kyle’s heart jumped to his throat.

“He’s your little gay imaginary friend.” Cartman’s tone was that same innocent lilt he used when the opportunity for manipulation or mocking arose, “You’ve been asking everyone at school where your buttmonkey went. Maybe he ran away because he was tired of your bitchy little voice?”

He felt the distinct sensation of biting the edge of his tongue as he stared into the face of evil. Kyle  _ didn’t _ gnash his teeth. He didn’t want to give Cartman the satisfaction.

It was tempting though.

“Fuck you, Fattass.”

Cartman rolled his beady little eyes and turned to return to his house, “Maybe he got tired of dealing with your bigoted bullshit.”

“That’s rich from you! You’re a fucking neo-nazi!”

He didn’t turn around but his voice carried clearer than it should, “Sure. But what does my weight have to do with that?”

The door shut behind the asshole and Kyle seethed, the inability to get in the last word causing him to lose his restraint.

How did Cartman  _ always _ get under his skin?

He knew, he  _ knew _ the bigoted bastard was probably standing behind the front door right now, sniggering that he’d gotten one more hit in. That Kyle actually felt a monochrome of guilt for making the insult.

But it shouldn’t, he defended.  _ It shouldn’t _ . It was  _ Cartman _ , for fucks sake. Cartman didn’t deserve common decency, not until he offered that same decency to others!

Besides, he’d  _ always _ called Cartman fat. Even when they were friends. What was the point in adjusting now?

This was just another one of his fucking mind games. He wouldn’t buy into it.

The words stuck on repeat in his mind he walked away, “Goddamnit, Cartman.”

He added that to his growing list of things he wasn’t wrong about.

Kenny was real.

Cartman was a fat piece of garbage that deserved every insult lodged at him.

He was right.

“Welcome home, Bubbie!” His mother’s face contorted into a worried frown and Kyle just pondered at how far out of it he’d been to miss getting home, “Are you taller?”

Panic driving him forward, Kyle used the tips of his toes to touch the ground before his mother’s eyes swept downward. Her surprised little laugh told him of his success but he still felt panic throbbing through him.

If nothing else he needed to find Kenny to become tethered again. He knew he hadn’t had this problem when the other boy was here.

He hadn’t, right?

Something about Kenny’s disappearance had triggered his shitty ‘powers’ into a confused fray.

“You’re too old for pranks like that, Bubbie,” she chided cheerfully before disappearing into the kitchen, “Now wash your hands for dinner!”

It settled something in him to know that something  _ changed _ with Kenny’s disappearance. He walked numbly to the sink and began to lather on soap thoughtlessly.

_ “Sock bath, sock bath, sock bath!” _

_ He couldn’t let Kenny take the fall for him. It had been him. He was the one with the lice, he was the one that had caused this entire problem because of his own cowardice, and now Kenny was calling for help, pleading his innocence. _

_ The sound of Kenny’s voice unhindered from his signature parka is what spurred his voice forth, unable to contain the guilt welling within. _

“What’s wrong with you, grandpa?” Ike’s voice might have sounded concerned if it wasn’t muted under the sound of Pewdiepie’s obnoxious cries on the kid’s cell. Kyle looked to the sky for patience but found none.

“Maybe it’s because of the talentless idiot’s videos that you won’t stop watching.” Kyle said.

Ike just scoffed and nudged him out of the way to wash his own hands, “You’re such a grandpa.”

“Boys, be nice.”

“Yes, mom.”

Like that. As easy as that and a pace had been established. They made it to the table, spoke politely with one another under their mother’s careful eye, avoided conversation with their father, and ate with quiet dignity.

A simple and polite family dinner. Kyle could never decide if he hated or loved them. As much as his family frustrated him, it was comforting to know that there was one time of day where they’d at least pretend to get along.

Where he could stow away the frustrations that rattled his core.

Those same frustrations stewed at the insincerity of it. He hadn’t had a real conversation with his father since he was a boy, if the conversations he’d had back then could be considered anything of substance, and Ike barely talked to any of them anymore. Not really. Drifting further away into a virtual world full of false idols and pessimistic humor.

His mother had never been the listening sort.

“Pass the salt, Bubbie.”

Not once in his entire life had he felt truly understood by her.

“Yes, mom.”

And yet looking at her was like a fearful reflection of what he didn’t want to become.

Never listening, bullheaded and reaching his own answers because the world was the crazy one. Never stopping to take care of the people he claimed to care for.

“Is there something on your mind, Kyle?”

He avoided his father’s eyes and poked at his food, “No.”

He loved the one time of the day that brought his family together and allowed him to pretend.

He hated the lies that had been wound so tightly around the interactions that he couldn’t breathe.

He put down his fork.

“Actually, I don’t feel good. Can I go to bed early?”

“Of course, Bubbie!” Her voice sounded truly concerned, honestly upset at the prospect of anything harming her precious baby. “Are you alright? Did something happen at school?”

It was stifling.

“No. I’m just tired.” He let her continuous concerned investigation compile as he waited for it to end and to finally be allowed the peace of rest.

It didn’t take long, logically speaking, but emotionally it felt like days had passed before he was climbing the stairs to his bedroom. Upstairs, take a shower, go to bed, forget about Kenn--

He stopped on the last step and glared at the carpet.

It felt like he was always looking down lately. Eyes on his feet to discern where they were, into the ground where Kenny’s body probably rested, away from the expansive sky above.

He was looking down and submitting to the easy answer.

“Kenny is real,” he muttered again to himself. A constant reminder.

He couldn’t let himself be swept away by the easy answers.

_ “Where’s Stan?” _

_ The voice was shattered with doubt and fear, but the horrible bloody coughs were the worst. Kyle stayed by the bed. _

_ He was the only one here. _

_ Kenny’s family came and went, Stan wouldn’t stay, Cartman’s actual show of human emotion was the last he’d been seen. _

_ “He’ll be here. Don’t worry.” Kyle reassured, placing a hand over the trembling one. _

_ This didn’t look good. It didn’t seem like the kid would last very long. _

_ “I wanted to see Stan…” Kenny complained, a weebit petulantly, and squeezed Kyle’s fingers. _

_ Kyle shrugged, trying not to take the insult that he wasn’t enough to heart. That was fine. It wasn’t like he’d ever been all that close to Kenny. He was just here because someone had to be. _

_ Kenny looked so impossibly small on the hospital bed hooked up to half a dozen machines. _

_ “I’m scared.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “I think this time it’s for real.” _

_ Kyle puzzled this but found no answer that came to light, “What’s for real?” _

_ Kenny closed his eyes, tremble wracking his entire body, “Dying.” _

Kenny was real. The scattered memories might not make a lot of sense when put together chronologically but they were too vivid to be fake. Too shattering.

He pulled out his own phone as he ascended the last stair--

_ “We’re building a stairway to heaven!” _

\--and decided against the shower, beelining straight for his room and popping open a news podcast while he changed for bed. He could focus on the micro contexts of his day to day life in the morning, the macro problems that impacted his town and the world would honestly be a relief.

The voice that bubbled to life was the familiar monotonous droll of Craig covering the news without a hint of emotion, pausing briefly for when Clyde would pop in for unintentional comedy relief or Jimmy would cite a correction or relevent joke.

[--and in local news, we’ve seen a revival of the long retired hero, Mysterion. Reopening the long unanswered question that plagues everyone: Who is Mysterion?

Wo-wo-wow. I haven’t heard that name in years! What is he doing nowadays?

I heard he stopped the taco bandit!

...There’s a taco bandit?]

Kyle paused the audio and stared down at it thoughtfully.

Mysterion?

He felt like he’d known more about the hero before. Like chunks were missing.

_ “Because I think you’re the smartest kid in class.” _

_ The shadowy figure stood on his bed, without a care for the way his boots were scuffing dirt onto his expensive comforter. Kyle couldn’t help but think it was cool. _

_ Mysterion was cool. He’d been initially skeptical but there was something so--so-- mysterious about him! It tore his attention away from anything else. _

_ He didn’t think anyone had outright identified him as smart before, either. He liked it. _

_ He could help. Maybe. Just once or twice. Be the guy in the chair. _

“That’s a blast from the past…” He wanted to play the podcast again, figure out more details, but he found his thoughts were too caught up in the tug of it.

He’d always been weak to the guardian angel of the city. Even taken a fall for him. It’d been revealed easily enough that Kyle couldn’t have been the masked crusader, having an alibi for most of the shenanigans that had ensued, and with his father as a lawyer, it had only been one night in a jail cell.

One night where Mysterion had sat with him the entire time. Patient. Waiting. A quiet sort of conversation that fueled Kyle’s conviction that he’d made the right choice.

A strong ally to righteousness. A featureless angel with piercing blue eyes.

Kyle tucked himself in and stared at the ceiling until sleep took him away, thoughts spiraling around a figure that he’d once held in such high esteem.

Was it childhood naivete or was Mysterion really all that he’d believed in? It would require a new perspective, looking at the situation with fresh eyes and doing his own research. His heart threatened to strain his ribcage at the thought. There was something consistently thrilling about vigilantism.

There was something thrilling about Mysterion.

He wanted to see the other again. Maybe Mysterion would remember him and they’d have a conversation. Like the one in the jail cell that night.

Or maybe he’d show him the sky at night from atop rooftops with just the two of them.

Maybe he’d sneak into Kyle’s bedroom again and they’d solve a mystery together.

The electrifying possibilities only multiplied in Kyle’s mind and he thought it ought to make it impossible to sleep.

He was wrong, the morning sunlight peeking in through the blinds was more than enough to pull him from his restful sleep.

Dreams of adventures with a caped mystery man retreated at the sight of light, as if they, like him, were creatures of the night.

He was grateful for freedom Saturday offered him. The knowledge that he could spend the day how he liked. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to focus on school with thoughts of Mysterion still colliding with his emotions.

It was enough that he was a full foot off the ground while getting ready before he’d remembered Kenny.

Right.

Did he have time to be chasing down silly heroes when his friend had gone missing?

They weren’t close. Or perhaps they were. They were together for most of his childhood but Kyle could name more times when he’d gone out of his way to replace Kenny.

If Kenny was real.

He paused with his shirt in hand and considered it for the first time in all seriousness.

What if he was being insane like his mother? So convinced he couldn’t be wrong, or insane, that he was going to fight the entire world over the existence of an imaginary friend?

Mysterion was real. Definitely real. Everyone knew about him, everyone was curious about him, and Kyle  _ knew _ him. At least a little.

He liked to think they had a bond.

What could be gained by looking into some dumb imaginary kid when  _ so much _ could be gained by pursuing the masked man that had literally starred in his dreams?

Guilt gnawed in his stomach at the thought.

_ “Pass the ball, Kenny!” _

_ Kenny turned away from Cartman, carefully dribbling away from the paws trying to steal it, before tossing it Kyle’s way. _

_ “Sweet!” he made the shot and Stan’s groan was well worth it. _

_ “Take that! You guys owe us five bucks!” _

_ “Yeah!” Kenny’s muffled voice backed him up, shooting a high five while Stan and Cartman grumbled and pulled out their wallets. _

_ Kenny was the best teammate when they played basketball. Kyle grinned. _

Breakfast tasted bland. The continued questions by his parents and sibling were equally so and Kyle retreated from the meal as quickly as he could.

Unfortunately the outside world seemed equally unappealing. His first step out of the front door and he instantly regretted it, turning tail and marching straight back into the stifling oppressive pressures within. He wanted to go to Stan’s but he had the vaguest understanding that they still weren’t cool after Kyle lost it at him last night.

All over what? An imaginary boy.

Kyle shut the door in a way that he hoped made it sound like he left and crept as quietly as possible up the stairs to his bedroom, careful to avoid being seen by the occupants of the dining room.

If he ‘wasn’t home’ no one would bother him.

He hoped.

The comfort his bedroom normally offered was somewhat depleted with the knowledge that he’d have to be as quiet as a mouse to make this arrangement work.

A good time to research at least.

He plugged in some earphones and sat at his computer desk, typing the name into a search engine.

It felt silly though. Every reminder that he was probably crazy would be confirmed if the internet had nothing on him.

The internet had something on  _ everyone _ .

Kyle erased the name and instead typed in Mysterion.

He’d look for Kenny later.

Guilt gnawed at him but he persisted. He could look up Kenny later.

There wasn’t any rush.

Besides, something about Mysterion was  _ pulling _ him. It was important. He knew it had to be.

His search of the vigilante turned up too much and too little in the way of answers. Very few first hand accounts and a whole lot of speculation. Kyle frowned at the computer, willing it to give him the answers he desired.

Opinion pieces about the menace or significance of vigilantism wasn’t what he was looking for.

He needed answers.

He felt the familiar tug of adrenaline that Mysterion had always inspired. He wanted to know the answer to the question on everyone’s lips.

Who is he? Why does he do this? Where has he been all these years? And why is he only turning up again now?

Crime in South Park had always been an issue, from corrupt law enforcement to criminal organizations basing their operations in a seemingly small innocent town. It had always been an issue but Mysterion was an inconsistency.

Something clicked in Kyle’s brain.

It had to be significant that Kenny disappeared the same time that Mysterion reestablished himself. It had to.

Maybe there was a string of disappearances. Maybe Kenny wasn’t the only one and Mysterion  was on the streets looking for answers.

Kyle set his jaw and stared at the screen, knowing he only had one answer now. He had to find Mysterion. Get a firsthand account of events. It had to be why he wanted to know more about Mysterion rather than continue to investigate his friend’s probable kidnapping.

He didn’t have any specific fixation on the hero, he assured himself, feeling a bit off put to be defending himself from himself.

He dove headfirst back into research, he’d need to find a pattern for Mysterion’s behavior if he was going to find him.

It was hard to say how many hours had passed before he pulled off his headphones, letting the latest news video he’d been listening to fade away while he sat back in his chair.

He’d figured out the likeliness that Mysterion would appear on the wrong side of the tracks was high. He’d also worked out that no one had seen him outside of the dead of night.

The rest of his day was spent with plans for sneaking out. He completely forgot he was trying to be silent in his enthusiasm and accepted a late lunch from his mother after she heard him bustling about.

He didn’t mind. The stifle of the morning was completely forgotten in the wake of his current goal. He ignored his phone and let Stan’s probable apology phone call go to voicemail. He let everything fade into the background while he picked out the perfect outfit for his expedition. Every little action practically had him floating but he kept his bedroom door shut so it wasn’t an issue. His pencil following him around was a bit of one though. He even took a nap until the late even to prepare for a night of no sleep.

At midnight he stared at the computer screen, the earlier name retyped and hand hesitantly raised for the enter button.

He was scared there wouldn’t be anything.

He’d talk to Mysterion to get answers. Then he’d search online.

It is a myth that only misbehaving child knows how to climb out of their window, even a floor up, Kyle was what one could consider a well behaved child by all accounts. The accounts that the world counted at least, grades from an insignificant school and blind obedience to parental figures. All the same, in the ways that mattered to himself, he found himself lacking.

Climbing trees was not an area with which he lacked. Neither was the expert way he wound his way down the old wall that would bring him to his mother’s rose bushes. He knew the best away to dance around the thorns, not a scuff on his carefully selected shoes or jeans. He could do this same practiced run in his sleep.

A nagging sensation filled him that he was forgetting why he’d done so.

The flash of orange in his mind’s eye told him all he needed to know about his seemingly faulty memory. This was another puzzle piece that would lead him to Kenny.

The familiar trek to the train tracks gave him pause, just a moment, to look around. Wonder about the distinct deja vu that was threatening his senses. It felt as though he could see orange any minute now.

His feet were planted firmly on the ground. He knew he was on the right path. His feet were on the ground and he would find the answers he needed.

He rushed forward into the night, tuning out the sounds of his neighbors arguing and further into the old creepy warehouse district. He was sure it held a title that was less suiting but for all his years in South Park, that was all anyone had ever referred to it as.

His research showed that Mysterion had been targeting locations related to the storage of meth for sales. Digging further he’d even been able to determine that the next most likely target was a warehouse on the edge of town. The police had long since suspected it of housing foul merchandise for the less the seemly, it was as likely a target as any.

He slowed his jog to a cautious walk when the buildings began to tower over him, the distinct feeling of being watched causing him to tug at his collar uncomfortably.

For the first time since he’d hatched this plan he wondered if it was truly in his best interest to wander around the most dangerous portion of town after dark.

No one knowing where he went or why he was there. No one to save him if things got rough.

He clenched his fist to his side. He could handle himself, for the most part, against his peers but these were adults. Armed to the teeth.

It was stupidly dangerous. Wandering in the dark for hours looking for a fucking vigilante. He was going to get himself killed.

_ “Hey, Kenny, I bet you five bucks to eat that!” _

_ It didn’t seem safe to eat. He wouldn’t eat it for all the money in the world. _

_ Kenny would do most anything for an extra buck though. It was funny to think of the orange blob he called a friend to devour the gross organ. _

_ “No way, dude!” Kenny muffled back, causing a groan of disappointment to run through the crowd of students. _

_ “Come on!” Stan pressed, putting down his own money. _

_ The rest chimed in and Kenny ate it whole. _

_ Kyle watched in morbid fascination. A part of him hadn’t expected Kenny to actually go along with the ridiculous bet. _

“What are you doing out so late?” A voice growled out from behind him.

Kyle startled, heart pounding a mile a minute at the potential of being mugged or worse, before the gravel in the voice caught up to him.

He turned around cautiously, “Mysterion?” he asked carefully, taking in the shadowy caped figure.

He couldn’t read whatever expression was on his face. The shadows seemed like they ought to be more than enough to conceal it but there was something strange about it.

It pulled on Kyle’s common sense, dragging him to step forward and the vigilante to step back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Kyle swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and anxiety pounding to the sound of his own scattered heartbeat, “Looking for you.”

Although he couldn’t read the expression, he felt that the stance shifted in what could have been a puzzled way, “Why?”

Kyle had a lot of answers. As many answers as the useless internet search had offered him. He knew none of them encompassed all he wanted to know.

Why he had returned.

Why he hadn’t come to Kyle.

Did he still remember the time they worked together?

Did he still remember the night they’d spent talking?

The dangerous edge to Mysterion’s stance screamed fight or flight, a moments issue and he could spring into motion any which direction. Like the past, a dangerous and formidable figure that represented something.

The wrong words could send him away.

Kyle hadn’t the sense to stop himself from bursting forth with the wrong words.

“I need to know about Kenny McCormick.”

It was the only answer that kept his feet planted on the ground.

Mysterion jolted, perhaps the most emotion Kyle had ever witnessed from the stoic figure of darkness, the fight in his pose fading in favor of flight.

Kyle willed him to stay, frozen in terror that any movement he made might trigger him to melt into the shadows.

“Who is that?” Mysterion asked, thickly, voice losing none of his deep guttural intent, but holding much more emotion. Emotion he wanted hinted.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed his eyes the same timing that his heart leapt to his throat.

He was right.

He’d been right.

“You know him.” Kyle breathed out in relief and terror.

There are moments in time where the air shifts so drastically that it causes distress to jingle across the brain as though the mind itself wanted to allow a warning siren to issue caution to a person.

Menace oozed away from the now very scary man of the night and Kyle took an actual step back in shock, a million emotions coursing through him at the same time and not all of them his own.

“I don’t.” Mysterion threatened. “No one does. He’s not real.”

It wasn’t just a threat, it was a promise. One that the wise should heed in order to live a longer and healthier existence.

Kyle never heeded the warnings of others. He gathered himself and planted his shoes into the soil of the dirt road that marked the disappearing of society into the wilderness.

“He is real.” Kyle hissed, his own warning flaring in his eyes, “Kenny McCormick is real and I’ll find him.”

He’d never been more sure than in that moment. Looking into the shadows and seeing threat, he knew.

Kenny McCormick who wore a giant orange parka and spoke crudely about the world hidden behind the muffle of his jacket.

Kenny McCormick who always helped his friends, at any cost, and with no regard to his personal safety.

Kenny McCormick who never turned down a bet and loved Nascar.

“Kenny McCormick is real.” Kyle repeated, emotion coating his voice in a way that confused even him.

Mysterion’s menace fluctuated, “You’re losing your mind.” He said, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Bullshit you don’t—“ Mysterion was already disappearing into the night, “Hey!”

Kyle gave chase. Mindless of the surroundings that offered only danger. Of the potentiality that he was crazy.

He was right.

It took his breath away how relieving the thought was.

He was  _ right _ .

He wasn’t his mother and he wasn’t insane.

The shadow of Mysterion’s cape his only guide, Kyle pushed forward. Feet colliding with the earth as a statement.

“Stop following me.” The vigilante’s voice echoed passed but Kyle paid it no regard, following him up the fire escape of one of the many buildings marking the area.

“Not until you tell me about McCormick! Why does no one remember him?!”

“Because he’s not real.” The frustrated hero growled back, “You’re having a delusion of a nonexistent boy.”

The cape disappeared over the top of the roof and Kyle followed shortly after, getting the cleanest view of the vigilante thus far. Moonlight illuminating the caped figure, Mysterion’s face was a mask of displeasure.

Kyle’s was sure his own expression mirrored this.

“If you keep following me, you’re going to get hurt.”

“Then give me answers.” Kyle challenged.

Mysterion clicked his tongue, an impatient and displeased sound, before leaning against the guardrail of the rooftop, “I already told you the truth. You’re the one chasing me. If anyone deserves an answer, it’s me.”

“Bullshit.” Kyle said, clenching his fists and feeling the wind pick up with his emotions, “You fucking  _ flinched _ at the sound of his name. You know something.”

With the wind dancing along his cape, Mysterion attempted to stare him down. Kyle met his gaze with a firm stare of his own. He wouldn’t back down. He wouldn’t cave.

He wasn’t going to give up until he found Kenny.

A trill of excitement sang in the bottom of his stomach when the illumination of the evening allowed him to discern the color of Mysterion’s eyes.

An icy blue.

He bit his tongue, unsure what words he was restraining but gaze caught on the funny little details of a vigilante’s face.

The slant of his jaw, the hug of his costume to muscle, the firm line of his lips, and the narrowed slant of his eyes.

It was a ridiculous moment to remember precisely how weak he was to the mystery before him.

A low and ultimately defeated sigh escaped through the narrow gap of Mysterion’s mouth and Kyle’s heart picked up at the sound.

“Don’t look into this, Kyle.” His tone was surprisingly pleading, somehow caressed by worry that caused Kyle’s breath to catch, “It’s dangerous.”

Mysterion was worried about him. His safety. After all this time and distance. Kyle swallowed the lump threatening to send his emotions further into disarray.

“You do remember me,” he said finally, somehow the point that the masked man used his name giving an extra thrill to the night.

“Of course.” Mysterion tilted his head, an almost confused gesture that Kyle couldn’t but file under  _ cute _ , “You’re the boy who saved me.”

Something about that felt too glamorous. A night in a jail cell wasn’t  _ saving _ per se. Not as much as Mysterion did for citizens regularly. Still, his chest puffed with pride that  _ he _ was the one that Mysterion credited with a rescue.

_ He’d _ saved a hero.

“Someone has to.” the answer sounded smoother in Kyle’s mind. He instantly regret how silly he must sound but had no time to properly berate himself.

Mysterion’s eyes were locked on his own with an entirely unreadable emotion.

“No,” he said, something sad and something broken. “No one has to. It’d be better if people forgot about me.”

Kyle’s mouth felt dry and he couldn’t help surging forth and directly into the personal space of his hero, “Then why did you come back? If you wanted people to forget you?”

Mysterion looked away, discomfort at the close proximity apparent in his rigid shoulders and uneven breath, “It’s complicated.”

Kyle pushed his luck further, poking a finger into Mysterion’s chest, “Make it simple then.”

To his surprise a deep laugh rumbled under his finger and he watched in amazement at the look of amusement on the previous stoic face, “Only you, Kyle.”

“Only me…?” Kyle pressed, confusion melding with the beat of his own heart that assaulted his ribs with renewed intent, matching the pace of fluttering creatures in his stomach, “Only me what?”

A gloved hand reached and held the hand away from his chest while Mysterion shook his head, smile now tainted with melancholy, “Making such unreasonable requests. I’d be inclined to do just that for you,” he admitted, hurt darting through shadows of his pained eyes, “But I can’t. It’s dangerous. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“Why is dangerous?” Kyle couldn’t help but be acutely aware that his hand was still being held gently but firmly, warmth seeping from the green gloves. “Why won’t you give me answers? Why is looking for Kenny dangerous? Did more people disappear like him?” Kyle pushed forward, determined not to hesitate and press for the answers he needed, “Is that why you came back? Are you looking for them?”

“Kyle…” he was so close that he could feel Mysterion’s breath tickling his chin. He was definitely too close. Too close if he could tell that he had a few inches on Mysterion. Too close if he could see the freckles that peeked out from just under the mask. Too close. “I mean it. Don’t ask questions. Don’t look into this. Don’t look for me or Kenny McCormick.”

The desperation tugged at him guiltily but he held his ground, “You still haven’t told me why. I won’t accept ‘because I said so’. I’m not giving up without an  _ answer _ .”

“Because it’s  _ dangerous _ .” Mysterion burst, frustration burning in icey eyes and hint of fear pausing Kyle’s argument, “Stay  _ safe _ . This isn’t--this isn’t like before where you could swoop in and save the day. This is different.”

“ _ How _ ?” Kyle could feel some of his resolve weakening, the intensity of Mysterion’s worry scaring him.

“It just  _ is _ , Kyle!” Mysterion pulled away, the motion sending him dangerously close to falling clear over the ledge, but it didn’t stop his tirade in the least, sheer force of his words causing Kyle to take a startled step backwards, “ _ Trust _ me on this! I fucking know you’re not the type to give up but just  _ do it _ , okay?! Forget about it. Forget about McCormick. Forget about me. Move on.”

The air felt cold with some actual distance between them. Kyle felt strangely rejected.

He couldn’t give up though.

“What if I don’t want to forget…?”

Mysterion actually rolled his eyes, the motion so petulant and out of place in the tense atmosphere. “Well, too fucking bad.”

Kyle re-clenched his fists, reveling in the feel of his nails digging into the small of his palm, “Kenny… Kenny is a deceptively small kid. You wouldn’t notice because he hangs out with everyone and keeps up with all sorts of crap, but he’s small. Like he hasn’t eaten in the past week.”

Mysterion’s mouth was a firm line. Kyle looked away, focusing on the broken tile of the rooftop.

“He hides it under his parka but when he crashes into you, you can feel how boney he is. He never says anything about it. Instead he makes dumb jokes. He makes a lot of dumb jokes, usually dirty ones, and he’s an actual encyclopedia of smut. He’s reliable. If you ask him to help out, he always does his best and he rarely holds grudges. Even against Cartman.”

He didn’t dare look up. He didn’t even remember what his point was.

He was just frustrated.

“He’ll take a bet from anyone, even if it’s ill-advised, and he is a hedonistic asshole who doesn’t always think through the consequences of his actions. He never asks for help, even when he probably should.”

Why couldn’t anyone else remember?

Why couldn’t he control his condition?

“Kenny is my friend. He’s stupid and an asshole but that doesn’t mean anyone gets to take him from me.”

Kyle didn’t like that his voice got a little warbled at the end, watery and wet and lacking the strength he wanted put behind the statement.

The determination he felt was necessary to establish in this relationship.

He wouldn’t give up. Not for Mysterion or Stan or for his own goddamn sanity.

_ “Kenny, tell Cartman to fuck off.” _

_ He almost hadn’t expected to be obeyed, but a beat later a muffled, “Fuck you, Cartman.” came out of the orange clad boy. _

_ Kyle smiled to himself, the thrill of having a partner in crime. Or justice, considering the target was the damn fatass. _

_ Kenny was cool like that _ .

The silence was a bit much to take and Kyle finally looked up to see Mysterion’s expression.

The barest hint of light touched the horizon over the vigilante’s shoulder, shadowing his face from view. Kyle wondered about the time. Was it four? Five? What time did the sun peek over the horizon this time of year?

More importantly, with the light, Mysterion looked almost translucent.

He heard the exhale of someone who couldn’t find words and he longed to close the gap between them again, if only to read his expression.

“Would your friend want you to be in danger?” he said finally, voice strangely distant.

Oh shit.

He didn’t  _ seem _ translucent. He  _ was _ translucent.

Kyle’s eyes widened as the shadow of Mysterion vanished in the sun's gentle touch.

“You’re--”

“Don’t look into this, Kyle.” Mysterion begged, one last time, almost entirely gone, “Don’t. Go home. Get some sleep.”

“I--” the words caught as against all odds, Kyle watched the man disappear, reaching forward to touch what wasn’t there anymore.

His heart splintered.

Was that a trick? Was Mysterion even real? Was he really going insane and seeing things?

No.

No.

He looked at the faint line of sunlight on the over the trees and buildings.

He had to find answers.

Kenny was real. Mysterion was real.

Something seriously fucked up was going on and he wasn’t going to give up until he figured out exactly what.

 


End file.
